For eight years, I was a high school culinary teacher.

And apparently, there are some things you never quite unlearn.

Because no matter how many years pass, August still feels like a countdown to me.

When I was teaching, August had a very specific feeling. Summer was ending. A new school year was coming. There were lesson plans to write, a classroom to get ready and a million things I wanted to accomplish before that first bell rang.

September was the finish line.

If I could just get everything done before then, I’d be ready.

I’m not a teacher anymore, but the funny thing is, I still find myself doing it.

Every August, some part of me starts thinking…

By September I’ll be caught up.

By September I’ll be organized.

By September I’ll have better routines.

By September I’ll be eating better and exercising consistently.

By September I’ll have work under control.

Basically, by September, I’ll finally have my act together.

My life actually does change when the school year begins. My son is a teacher now, and during the school year I watch my grandson, Elliott, every other week.

Those weeks have a different rhythm.

There are fewer uninterrupted work hours and a lot more snacks. There are toys on the floor, little shoes by the door and a tiny person who thinks whatever Grammy is doing is probably something he should be doing, too.

And I wouldn’t trade it.

But because I know that change is coming, I’ve found myself looking at August like I always have.

A deadline.

I have this many weeks to get ahead.

This many days to get organized.

This much time to become the version of myself who is completely prepared for what’s coming next.

Except lately I’ve started to wonder…

Prepared for what?

Life?

Because I’m 50 years old, and I’m starting to suspect I’m never going to get far enough ahead that life stops happening.

There will always be another recipe to make.

Another drawer I could organize.

Another email to write.

Another load of laundry.

Another few pounds I’d like to lose.

Another habit I want to start.

Another version of myself I can imagine just a few months down the road who somehow does all of this better than I do now.

And maybe that’s the part I’ve been getting wrong.

Maybe September was never supposed to be the finish line.

The truth is, I think I’ve been creating finish lines my whole life.

Not just with the calendar.

I’ve done it with my body.

When I lose the weight, I’ll buy the clothes.

When I feel better about myself, I’ll take the pictures.

When I’m healthier, I’ll enjoy things more.

I’ve done it with my business.

When I get caught up, I’ll slow down.

When I have enough content, I’ll stop worrying about what everyone else is doing.

When I get everything organized, work will finally feel easy.

I’ve even done it at home.

Once I get this room finished…

Once I clean out that closet…

Once I get into a better routine…

Then.

Then I’ll relax.

Then I’ll enjoy it.

Then I’ll feel like I’m doing life right.

The problem with then is that it keeps moving.

You finally reach the place you were racing toward, and somehow there’s already another finish line waiting in the distance.

And I don’t want to do that anymore.

I don’t want to spend August waiting for September.

Or spend this year waiting for next year.

And I especially don’t want to spend this version of my life waiting for some future version of me to show up and start enjoying it.

So I’m trying something different this August.

Instead of asking:

How much can I get done before September?

I’m asking:

What can I do now that would make life a little easier for September June?

It sounds like almost the same question.

But it doesn’t feel the same at all.

September June doesn’t need me to completely change her life.

She doesn’t need every recipe photographed through Christmas.

She doesn’t need every closet organized.

She doesn’t need a perfectly planned routine.

She doesn’t even need me to hand her a perfectly organized life on September 1.

She might appreciate a few dinners I don’t have to think about.

A couple weeks of emails already written.

Some clothes in my closet that fit the body I have right now and make me feel good when I put them on.

A morning routine that’s simple enough to actually follow.

A little breathing room.

She doesn’t need August June to fix everything for her.

She just needs me to take care of her a little.

And maybe the most loving thing I can do for September June is trust her.

Trust that when September gets here, she’ll handle September.

Just like I’ve handled every other season that came before it.

Which means I don’t have to sacrifice August trying to make sure she never has a hard day.

I still get to be here.

There are still summer evenings to enjoy.

People I want to spend time with.

Food I want to make.

Places I want to go.

A husband I love being with.

Kids and grandbabies whose lives aren’t waiting for me to get everything figured out.

This is my life, too.

Not the warm-up.

Not the before picture.

Not the month I have to hurry through so I can finally become the person I’m supposed to be in September.

This part counts.

Maybe that’s what I’m finally learning about all of these finish lines I’ve created for myself.

I can still have goals.

I can still want to be healthier.

I can still grow my business.

I can still make plans and organize closets and prep dinners and try to make tomorrow easier.

I just don’t have to postpone today in order to do it.

So when September comes, I hope I’ve done a few things that make her life easier.

But I also hope September June can look back at August June and say:

I’m glad you didn’t spend the whole month getting ready for me.

I’m glad you lived there, too.

And maybe that’s enough.

Sweet Wishes,

June